Reflection
by NC Girl
Summary: John’s thoughts about his sons, told in first person. Takes place during “Dead Man’s Blood.”


**Reflection**

By NC Girl

_Summary: John's thoughts about his sons. Takes place during "Dead Man's Blood."_

_Note: The characters are borrowed; the story and the mistakes are mine._

* * *

A soft grunt from across the room pulled my attention from the police scanner to my oldest son as he shifted on the bed and unconsciously flipped from his stomach to his back. I watched as he cracked one eye open and turned to face his brother in the other bed for a brief second before closing it again and falling back asleep with a deep sigh. Within seconds, his breathing slowed once again and I knew he was out for the count. I couldn't help but smile at his subtle but predictable action.

Ever since Dean was a kid, he would often wake up during the night and check on his brother before falling back asleep. It was just a visual check, as if to make sure Sam was still there, and most of the time I don't think Dean was ever completely awake. It was a habit and a security blanket of sorts. Visual confirmation was all he needed and once he had it, all was right in his world again. The tender gesture always left me a little breathless and in a bit of awe. It was such a "Mary" thing to do.

In the weeks after Dean was born, we kept his cradle next to our bed. Mary would often wake up with a gasp and immediately check on the baby. I remember teasing her about it a few times, promising her that we still had at least fourteen years before he would be trying to sneak out of the house at night. Over time, these "baby checks" became simple, one-eyed, half-conscious visual confirmations before she rolled over and fell back asleep. Eventually, Dean was moved to the crib in the nursery and Mary slowly learned to relax when he was out of her sight.

But apparently, old habits die hard for Dean.

After losing Mary, I couldn't bare to have the boys out of my sight. For a long time, the three of us would pile into one bed, each boy pressed up against either side of my rib cage. Shortly after Sammy's first birthday, when I started focusing more and more attention on hunting and often spent evening hours doing research and making plans, I started putting the boys to sleep together in the bed, with pillows piled around the edges to prevent them from rolling over and falling to the floor. It was then that I noticed that, like Mary, Dean would awaken in the middle of the night with a gasp and check on his new charge. And just like Mary, these "baby checks" evolved into simple, one-eyed, half-conscious visual confirmations.

Although I didn't witness it as often as I had when they were younger, I suspected that these midnight confirmations continued on a regular basis throughout their elementary, middle, and even high school years. But it wasn't until the months following Sam's abrupt departure for college that my suspicions were confirmed.

Having Sam out of his sight nearly killed Dean. Every night he would wake up with a gasp and scan the room for his brother before reality would set in, hitting him like a two-by-four. At that point, there was no more sleeping for Dean that night; he would just get up, shower, and dive into research, listen to music, or watch the television until daylight. I made an attempt to talk to him about it on several occasions, but we Winchesters are not the touchy-feeling, talk-it-out types and the conversations were usually reduced to a series of grunts and a change of subject. I knew that part of Dean was still angry at me for the way I handled Sam's departure and another part just simply refused to admit that he was having a hard time dealing with the fact has brother was gone. Somehow, though, the kid managed to get by on two or three hours of sleep each night for almost six weeks before he simply couldn't function. And on the day that he came frighteningly close to driving the Impala into a cement truck, I crushed two of my prescription-strength sleeping pills into a fine powder and secretly mixed them into his bowl of macaroni and cheese during dinner. Twenty minutes later, I was literally dragging my 22-year-old, 170 pound son to bed where he remained asleep for the next 38 hours.

The familiar pang in my lower back reminded me that I had been sitting for entirely too long. Standing slowly, I stretched and flexed until I felt the vertebrae pop, one by one, from my hips to shoulders. God, getting old sucks. I walked to the window quietly and looked at the bland scenery outside of the motel. It was just a standard winter day: cold, gray, cloudy, and quiet. My mind started to wander when the rustle of fabric and the soft squeak of mattress springs made me turn my head toward the boys again. This time it was Sam who was adjusting his position on top of the bed, making himself more comfortable on a mattress that was too short for his frame.

As a baby, Sam was my restless sleeper, a trait that he apparently brought with him into adulthood. I never could figure out how a child who could sit still and concentrate quietly for hours while reading or drawing or even watching television could be so _wiggly_ in sleep. But then again, Sam was always one to do things his own way and on his own terms.

When my youngest was in elementary school, he started having nightmares. Usually, Dean would wake up and settle his brother down again, but there were times when Sammy would make his way over to my bed. Often times he was so quiet that I wouldn't even notice that he had climbed under the covers … until I was startled awake, often gasping, with a knee to my gut or an elbow to my throat. Sam would often throw punches while sound asleep, his gangly arms and legs everywhere. I had a feeling that the kid would grow up to be a precision fighter and he didn't disappoint. In more ways than one.

I walked back to my chair quietly and refocused my attention on the calls that were coming through the police scanner. Sitting down, I got comfortable and patiently listened for anything that would give us a clue as to where the vampires might strike next. After several long minutes, I noticed that my gaze had once again settled on the reclined forms of Dean and Sam.

When had my sons evolved into these men? Weren't they little boys just yesterday? Now they are these handsome, intelligent, strong, street-smart, caring men that are fiercely devoted to each other and unbelievably loyal to me, whether I deserved it or not. As a father, I simply couldn't be prouder of the men they've become.

Dean is pure energy fueled by his focus and drive. He has a street-wise sense of good and evil and an understated intelligence that gives him an edge over most hunters I know. His heart is as big as the state of Texas although he often keeps it hidden behind his nonchalant attitude and sarcastic sense of humor. But it is his devotion to his brother and me, and his determination to see this fight through to the end while saving as many people as he can along the way, that makes Dean _Dean_. He has become one of the best hunters out there and I would put my life in his hands any day, and often have. 

And then there's Sam. People have often said that the strongest resemblance between me and Sam is in our personality and character. Unfortunately, the things that make us so similar are often the things that drive us apart. Sam has his own focus and drive, though, and he's as loyal to this family as he ever was. He is sensitive to people's pain and emotions and this, combined with his unwavering thirst for knowledge, his well-defined sense of fairness and justice, and his natural ability to believe in himself, make him the perfect hunting partner for his brother. The dynamic duo. But it is also because of these traits that there is no doubt in my mind that Sam would have made a good lawyer… _will_ _make_ a good lawyer someday. He is definitely the guy that every man wants in his corner throughout life.

The world is a better place with these boys in it, that I know for sure. And I can only take a fraction of the credit for raising them to be the men that they are. Truth be told, they've raised themselves; they've raised each other. And if I have one regret in my life, it is that I didn't have the foresight to see what I would miss. Oh, don't think for a second that I didn't love these boys with every fiber of my being. I did, and I do. I would die for either one of them without giving it a second thought. I simply lost focus for a while. Finding the demon that killed my wife, their mother, became an all-consuming task for many years and then suddenly, my babies were men. And I am so incredibly and unbelievably proud of them.

As I sat in the quiet room, reflecting on the last 25 years of my life and the lives of my boys, the police scanner suddenly crackled with the information I had been waiting to hear for the last hour. Evidence of vampire activity was unknowingly broadcast through police dispatch and we had only minutes to get to the scene before officers inadvertently removed the clues we would need to track our targets. Something switched inside of me and suddenly I was back in full hunting mode. I quickly grabbed my jacket and reached out toward my sleeping sons, slapping an ankle of each one of them.

"Sam. Dean. Let's go."

August 6, 2007


End file.
